


Sandor's Little Bird

by celticheart72



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celticheart72/pseuds/celticheart72
Summary: Angeline Stark told Sandor Clegane when she was a naïve sixteen year old girl that he could be her knight and lord husband. She wished he had been bold enough to ask for her then, it would have saved her the torture she suffered at the hands of the husband her father gave her to. When Sandor comes to Winterfell with the King's Court to bring her brother Ned to King's Landing to be his Hand she gets another chance.





	Sandor's Little Bird

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Hound’s character, I just always felt like there was a huge heart simmering under all of the blackness that the right woman could get to. Several years ago I wrote a series of short little stories about the Hound and an original female character that I’ve finally decided to post. This is one of them. Warning there Is mention and descriptions of abuse, and smut at the end.

ANGELINE

Angeline stood in the courtyard behind her nieces, thirteen year old Sansa Stark and eleven year old Arya Stark, while the King’s retinue rode into the courtyard of Winterfell. Why was the King back here after all this time? The last time he was in Winterfell was for Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion and not long after that she was shipped off to the Dreadfort to be married to Roose Bolton’s older brother, Raynar, the cruel bastard he was. Fortunately for her Eddard had taken his head for the atrocities done to her during that short marriage. Sixteen years old and scarred for life, and now she was worth nothing to any man high or low. Her marriage was annulled at Robert’s hand, but that just left her a sullied highborn woman who couldn’t even be sold to some of her brother’s older bannerman. She was not able to bear children because of the torture she suffered at Raynar’s hands and quite frankly didn’t trust any man within two feet of her. If only she’d been born a common maybe she could have married a blacksmith, they were always large men with strong hands and kind hearts. She remembered one such man from Robert’s last visit, scarred, mean, and brooding, but he was always kind and honest to her and he called her “Little Bird.” She didn’t understand the name at the time, always thought it was just a cute little name for a young girl with a crush always hanging on every word he granted her. Now she understood the things Sandor Clegane had been trying to teach her all those years ago.

Brought out of her thoughts by the last of the King’s party riding into the courtyard she noted a huge man on a black destrier in soot grey plate and mail with a dogs head helm next to the Crown Prince. He opened his helm and she smiled, it was Sandor Clegane, and he was much as she remembered him.

She stood with Eddard to her left, and her nephew Robb on her right, strong hands that she trusted, to assist her to kneel for their King and hopefully rise again. When King Robert approached Ned went to one knee and held his right arm out to her, Robb did the same with his left arm. She placed a hand on each of their arms for balance and gingerly went down to her left knee, she would need her good strong right leg to stand again. Head down she waited as Robert approached and looked down on Ned, he held out a hand and motioned them all up. Ned and Robb stood and began to turn to her to help her stand but the King intervened and put his hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet like a child. She kept her hands on Ned and Robb’s arms to steady herself and looked at the King who was watching her.

“I’m sorrier than you could know for what happened to you,” he said quietly to her his blue eyes sad.

“Thank you Your Grace,” She managed to say with a smile. He had annulled her marriage, and forced Roose Bolton to give up some of his land to her for her ordeal at the hands of his older brother, and told the Boltons that no one from the Dreadfort was ever again to speak her name or look upon her face, she couldn’t have asked any more of him.

Robert turned to Ned then and she saw Sandor striding up to her with murder in his eyes. She turned to Robb and motioned him to pass her walking stick to her, he did with a questioning look in his eyes as he saw the man he knew as The Hound walking towards her.

SANDOR

It looked like all of Winterfell was out to greet the King and his court, he lived at court but he hated the pomp and formality of it. He rode Stranger next to Joffrey into the yard and brought his courser up next to the boy. Today he wore full plate armor that was steel grey in color, to match his frequent dark moods he thought, chainmail under the plate, and his dogs head helm. Anyone who’d heard of The Hound would know who he was by that helm. He laughed to himself, hopefully they all just stayed away from him.

As he looked over Lord and Lady Stark and their get, he noticed one woman who looked slightly familiar. She had deep rich chestnut hair and pale mossy green eyes. Chuckling to himself he realized this was Angeline Stark all grown up. Her head had been filled with songs and stories as a young girl, perhaps she listened to him. He hated telling the then sixteen year old girl that life wasn’t a song and highborn ladies married for political gain of their families, and she had the audacity to tell him he could be her knight and lord husband because she wasn’t going to marry a man three times her age who she didn’t know. Even looked damned serious about it too. Shaking his head he laughed bitterly, would she even remember having said that? She had been too far above him then, and certainly was now but why was she back at Winterfell? If she married the older Bolton brother shouldn’t she have been lady of the Dreadfort?

As the last of the King’s party came to a stop in front of the people of Winterfell he opened his helm. His face was still mostly hidden and so were his scars but he noted Angeline flick a glance his way…did she smile? Then he saw as all of Winterfell knelt in front of the King and Lord Stark and his eldest get held out their arms to her. Why would she need their assistance to kneel? When he was here last Angeline was always outside, running, riding, in the stables, following him everywhere. When the King motioned the people of Winterfell to stand he saw how she struggled to rise again, and the King reach down and lift her like a doll. What happened to her?

As Lord Stark led the King off to the crypts and the Lady Stark took the queen, her children, including Joffrey, with some of the King’s guard to the wing of the castle set aside for them Sandor took off his helm, set it atop Stranger, and turned toward where Angeline still stood with her eldest nephew still holding her arm. He knew he looked mad by the look on the poor sod’s face, and when the boy handed Angeline a walking stick he knew his face must have gone red as dragonfire.

“Lady Stark,” he rasped, stopping in front of her.

She smiled at him again, “Lord Clegane,” she raised an eyebrow at him waiting for his short clipped reply at the form of address she knew he hated most. He glanced at the boy, who had placed a hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Relax boy, your aunt is the one person is all of Westeros that I would never lay a hand on in harm,” he growled at him.

Turning slightly to the boy, Angeline smiled at him, “It’s alright Robb, you can go, I promise you I am fine.”

While Robb took a step back and bowed his head slightly at her he watched Sandor nonetheless, and did not make to move until the old castellan grabbed him by the ear. Rodrik Cassell, he thought was his name, the old man must have remembered how much time Angeline spent with him when he was here last and that he never harmed a hair on her head.

Angeline was looking at him he realized, had his eyes been closed? Perhaps so trying to calm his anger.

“I can see you wish to speak to me, but I’m sorry Sandor unless you give me your arm, I cannot walk far with you. The cane only helps me for short distances,” she said, her green eyes slightly sad.

He held out his right elbow to her, and she wrapped her hand around it. All of the anger inside of him quelled and drained at her touch as it always had in the past. The one woman he thought he could love was back in his life and had the same effect on him now, if not stronger, than she did when she was 16.

“I thought you were Lady Bolton now,” he rasped at her.

She had lowered her head and he could see her jaw working in the way he remembered it did when she was trying to work out what to say to him. She had learned early on that he could spot a lie for what it was as soon as it was told and that he had no patience for it, so while she would not outright lie to him he knew she was careful with her words at times. “Raynar was beheaded and Robert annulled the marriage, I am a Stark once more.”

“Your leg?” He asked quietly, knowing the answer would be one he would not like.

“An…injury of sorts, at Raynar’s hands. One of the reasons for his beheading and my annulment,” she replied. He watched her face. Her green eyes were soft, unreadable, but he didn’t see any signs of a lie in what she said, just that she wasn’t giving him the whole story.

He grunted, and continued walking with her, where he wasn’t sure, but he could feel her slowing down beside him and he realized he was walking towards the Godswood. He helped her sit at one of the benches there, and sat beside her on her left side with her hand still on his arm. “Had I been of higher birth I would have asked for you,” he told her.

She smiled, “I know Sandor, I don’t blame you at all, I never did when you had to leave. I was already promised by my father to Raynar, and by the time you came here for Balon’s Rebellion there was nothing either of us could have done that would not have led to one of us being being thrown in a black cell.”

He looked over at her and nodded, he didn’t see the need for words to that, she was right.

“You were never beneath my birth,” she said forcefully.

He chuckled at that, “Little bird, still chirping her empty courtesies?”

She tilted her head sideways and looked at him for a moment, “I always accepted you for who you were, no matter what you did or said. Why do you always assume what I say is an empty courtesy? I know it may have been at one time, I didn’t know any better when I was 16, but now?” Shaking her head, she struggled to get up from the bench and used her walking stick to push herself up but wobbled unsteadily when she made it to her feet. He made to reach for her and she put her hands out to him to stop him. “Seven buggering hells I can’t even stand on my own and walk away from you properly.” She swore and sat back down with her head in her hands and threw the walking stick away from her with a cry.

“Little bird, I … “ Angeline put a hand up to him but wouldn’t look at him, and he realized her shoulders were shaking telling him she was crying. “Never want to make you cry,” he finished feeling like a fool.

They sat in silence for a few moments while she cried until he gauged that her anger at him lessened enough for him to reach his arm around her shoulder and draw her to his chest. He sat with her pulled close to him like that, his lips and nose in her hair taking in the scent of jasmine he remembered all too well. Seven hells he thought, he never imagined a woman would ever gentle him, or make him want to protect her. He lived his life taking orders and protecting Cersei and her children because that was what he was bid to do and paid to do. Angeline on the other hand made him want to protect her, to hold her, to love her. He didn’t realize the feeling would still be so strong but there it was.

ANGELINE

_She watched terrified as he walked around the left side of the table she was strapped to with a long sharp knife, one of his favorites she knew._

_He smiled, that evil soulless smile, and she knew she was lost._

_The knife touched the flesh of her left thigh, and as she watched he flayed the first layer of skin. She kept telling herself not to scream, screaming just made him want more, silence caused him to grow bored. The knife bit deeper and deeper and soon she couldn’t hold her tongue any longer and she began to scream as he began to cut more and more flesh…_

She woke then, screaming at the top of her lungs, yanked herself up and leaned to the side of her bed to retch in the basin she always kept there. The door to her chamber banged open and she heard a low growl, “There’s no one here.”

She turned slightly toward the door, she knew the voice, knew it was Sandor, and cringed at the sight of him. He looked furious, more than she’d ever seen him, his longsword was drawn in his right hand and his left hand was clenched into a fist.

Weakly she managed, “There never is,” and went back to retching in her basin again. She heard the grate of steel going back into it’s scabbard, a buckle being undone and a swordbelt drop on the floor, and felt more than heard him walk toward her. Then his hands were brushing her hair back from her face and holding it back as she continued her dry retching. When she was done he handed her a wet cloth…Where did he get that? She wiped her face and looked at him, “What did you think was happening to me?”

He looked defeated somehow, and scowled, “I didn’t know. I was walking by the tower and heard you screaming. Your fool guard was asleep at his post and when I asked why someone didn’t check on you he just shrugged at me. The fool is lucky I didn’t gut him.” He looked angry again and motioned to the room. “Is this why you sleep in this tower away from the castle proper?”

Looking down at her hands fiddling with the cloth, she wasn’t sure what to tell him. That she had nightmares every night of her former “husband” torturing her? That the nightmares were so real she woke up in a panic every time screaming her lungs out? That after waking up half of the castle the first week of her return every night that she moved out here into the abandoned north tower so her family would have the peace she could not gain?

She must have stalled too long because she felt his fingers under her chin lifting her face up to look at him. He only ever did this when he wanted an answer and knew she was debating lying to him, and she knew he was fully aware when she lied to him. Her bottom lip quivered and tears started falling, “Yes.”

He continued to look at her with that piercing grey gaze of his, and saw the anger in that gaze completely deflate and soften. Tentatively, as if he thought she might break, he wrapped his big strong arms around her and held her to his chest while she cried softly, stroking her hair to comfort her as best she thought as a man prone to violence knew how. Strange how she couldn’t tolerate the simplest touch of a man not her family without feeling trapped or repulsed, but Sandor, a man with a reputation for his superior fighting skills, brutality, and surly demeanor made her feel safe. He had always been honest with her, and where she saw him look at everyone else, 10 years ago and now, with a gaze simmering on rage when he looked at her his eyes always softened even if his stance or tone didn’t. She learned well from Raynar, the eyes told it all, the eyes were a direct link to the soul and heart, and she knew Sandor had one soft spot in his heart and it seemed to be for her alone.

“Little bird?” He pulled back slightly and looked at her.

She smiled at the name that she now came to recognize as the only way he knew to express affection, “Yes?”

“Would you want me to stay in the lower bailey of the tower?” Still stroking her hair, gods how strange it was that a man like him had the ability to be so gentle. Is this what Cat meant about every wild beast having only one woman with the ability to tame him?

“Sandor, I have no pretenses to maintain, I have no maidenhead to protect. I think I would like to share my bed with you and have your arms around me.”

He gave her an incredulous look and scowled before rasping, “That may not be the best idea you’ve ever had little bird.”

Shaking her head, she sighed, “I’m tired Sandor, tired of waking up screaming every night, tired of knowing that I’ll never be a fit wife, tired of feeling terrified when any man gets too close to me. You are the only man since I came back here who I have felt safe with, who I want near me. You were the only man I wanted before I was sent to the Dreadfort, and you are still the only man I want.”

There was that look of incredulity again, “You are a crazy bird do you know that?”

She laughed, “Maybe, but I’m tired of being a pawn in my families political dealings. I won’t be sold again, that didn’t work out so well for me the first time, it nearly killed me.”

He placed a callused palm on her check and she closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand, “What did they do to you?”

She knew it wouldn’t do her any good to lie to him or put him off, when he asked a question he expected an answer, an honest one. She opened her eyes and looked at him while she spoke, took strength from his steady gaze. “Raynar was not the man he alluded to my father that he was. He was a cold, cruel, evil man who had killed 8 wives before I came along. I was tortured and beaten to within an inch of my life. He never took me in the true sense that a man takes his wife – he used,” she hesitated and shuddered, “…tools, instruments meant for torture to take my maidenhead and give himself pleasure or he used my backside for his pleasure. One of the instruments he used tore my womb and prevents me from bearing children. And he flayed my leg taking some of the muscle, enough that walking is difficult at best.”

She took a deep breath to continue on, but he stopped her with a look, “I would assume that someone told your brother what was happening?”

She nodded, “The maester at the Dreadfort when I came was new, but he had heard rumors of what happened to the other wives, so he sent a raven to Eddard. I was saved within a fortnight and when he found out the depth of Raynar’s atrocities Eddard took his head. Robert annulled the marriage, and it is as if it never happened.”

He watched her for long moments before she spoke again, “Sandor please don’t look through me, look at me, and speak your mind.”

“No one will ever hurt you again so long as I live,” he rasped so quietly she had to strain to hear him.

“What do you figure you will do Sandor? You live in King’s Landing, I have no idea what Eddard intends for me when he leaves. I can’t stay here as Roose believes I should be his since his brother is dead and staying puts Cat and the children at risk. I will not be sold again, and there is only one man I’d willingly marry but I don’t think he’d have me either.”

She felt Sandor stiffen beside her, “Who?”

She smiled, “Who would I marry? And you call me a crazy bird. I told you earlier that you are the only man I’ve ever wanted, I told you that when I was 16. You are a dumb dog aren’t you?”

“Why would you assume I wouldn’t have you?” He rasped.

Watching him carefully she noted his eyes softened again. She bent and pulled the hem of her bedgown up, he put his hand to hers and looked at her questioningly, but she pushed the hand away. Leaning to her right she pushed herself up on her right leg and pulled the gauzy garment over her head. She wore nothing underneath, and turned so he could see the ruin of her body. Scars crisscrossed her stomach, in between her breasts, amazingly Raynar left her breasts unscarred – he enjoyed suckling them, one long scar went from under her right breast all the way across her stomach to her left hip, and then there was her left thigh. It didn’t look so bad any longer but there was a scar the size of her fist in the middle of her thigh that was sunken in where Raynar removed the muscle tissue to feast on the flesh of his beloved he said.

“Why would you want this?” She asked him quietly.

Shaking his head at her he stood and she was reminded of why he took her breath away at 14. The man was tall, taller than any man she’d ever known, and broad, well-muscled, and despite the burns on his face very handsome. His harsh nature was present to everyone else around him but her, for her he was always gentle.

“I have more scars than you can count little bird, they mean nothing to me,” never taking his eyes from her he began unlacing his jerkin. When he shrugged it off she reached her hands down to his breeches to begin untying those laces as well. He looked long and hard at her and pulled his tunic over his head. She understood what he meant, he had a multitude of scars on his massive chest. But as she watched muscles ripple under his skin and thought again of Cat’s words, “There is only one woman to each wild beast who can tame him.”

I’ve always loved you, she thought, but didn’t say it aloud. She was afraid it may scare him away and she didn’t want that. No, better to take what he was willing to give here and now. If nothing else maybe she could feel what it was like to be cherished by a man, in body at least.

His laces were undone and she pushed his breeches down his hips and over his arse, and nearly gaped open mouth at his manhood standing erect. He was huge everywhere, gods, how would they fit?

She felt his fingers come under her chin again and bring her face up to look at him, “No matter what, I will not force myself on you. If this is not what you want I will not touch you.”

She smiled at him, she knew he meant what he said, and looked into his eyes that held the gentleness he always had for her, uncertainty, and desire so strong his eyes looked like dark chips of granite. “I want you Sandor, you are the only man I have ever wanted. I would be yours.”

With that he leaned down and kissed her, just a brush of his lips on hers at first, and then his tongue touched her lips and she opened for him. At that he growled low in his throat, picked her up and placed her gingerly in the middle of the bed. He leaned down to her, bracing himself on his knuckles at each side of her, and began kissing her from her forehead, down her nose, her lips again, her earlobes, lightly brushing her neck, and on down. At each scar he traced his finger over them and kissed them lightly, at each breast he trailed a finger underneath and took her taught nipple in his lips and sucked lightly. With each kiss came a breathy sort of moan she didn’t realize she was capable of. She watched him and felt a wonderful kind of liquid pleasure begin pooling low in her belly and flash hot between her legs. When he had finished kissing her entire body he moved to kneel between her legs and she opened for him. His gaze never leaving hers he bent to her aching loins and lightly ran his tongue over her slit teasing it open to taste the swollen, throbbing nub that was begging for his touch and she moaned long and low as he ran his tongue over that one delicious spot. Before she knew what was happening she felt such wonderful pressure building where his tongue was and she fell over the edge of such exquisite pleasure she had never known possible. “Oh Sandor!” She cried as her hips bucked while his tongue kept rhythm with her spasming inner muscles. When she had quieted, he moved over her, leaning more to her right side to keep any weight from her left leg, and she opened her legs wide so he could settle between them. His manhood rubbed over that same place he’d used his tongue, and in a strange sense of curiosity she looked up into his eyes, nearly black now with his desire, and kissed him long and hard. He returned the kiss with a fierce growl, and she found the taste on his lips strange, but intoxicating knowing that it was her pleasure she tasted there.

“Angeline…” He looked down at her as he poised above her, the tip of his manhood just at her entrance. “If you’ve never had a man, even without your maidenhead, this may hurt.”

She knew it might, and she didn’t care, this was the man she had loved for a decade and she could take a little pain for him. Reaching her hands up to cup his cheeks, burned and smooth, she looked in his eyes, “I know it might, don’t hold back my love, take me, please make me yours.”

When she said my love she inwardly cringed, it slipped out and she didn’t know how he’d take that, but she suspected he was aware of her feelings. His eyes just softened again, and he claimed her mouth to his own as he slid his manhood inside of her slowly until he was fully sheathed in her. It was a beautiful sort of pressure, no pain at all, and as he began moving inside of her she answered each thrust with one of her own. Before she knew it the pressure was building again and she was crashing over the edge, her muscles again spasming but this time clenching down on his manhood and creating an even more profound pleasure than his tongue. She moaned again long and loud this time as she heard him growl low in his throat, say her name, and groan in pleasure as he spilled his seed inside of her. They lay like that for a time after both were spent, and he looked down into her eyes, searching for something.

She smiled, “You’re looking through me again.”

At that he grunted, and grinned that one sided mischievous grin of his that so endeared him to her, “I didn’t realize my little bird was so wanton as to seduce a man.”

Angeline laughed, “Is that what I did?”

He pulled her close him, kissing the top of her head as she lay her cheek on his chest. His black hair not thin but course and it tickled her cheek as she rubbed her face on him. She felt a rumble in his chest, and realized he was laughing softly at her, “What did you think you were doing when you stripped yourself naked? And seven hells woman, no smallclothes?”


End file.
